


What Are Friends For

by carminnat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 40s!Bucky, 40s!Steve, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angsty Bucky, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Childhood Friends, F/M, Sad Vintage Bucky, Sorry Not Sorry, Unrequited Love, sad bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 19:16:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7001899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carminnat/pseuds/carminnat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the notoriously charming lady-killer Bucky Barnes is balls-deep in the friend zone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Are Friends For

On the other side of the couch, you lay on your side, head resting under a pillow Bucky was sure to give you before you fell into your current slumber, a quilt pulled to your shoulders. Your stockinged feet are tucked under his legs; this small bit of contact urges him to stay put in his seat.

As made a large habit of his, he studies you closely. He knows every aspect of your face well. He’s been by your side since you were both children. Sure, he’s always thought you were pretty. But it wasn’t until months ago that he grew to appreciate all the forms of downright beauty in you: your smile. Your laugh. The storm in your eyes whenever you’re mad. How utterly concentrated you are when you’re doing something he knows you love doing. Everything.

A strand of your hair falls from its place behind your ear and into your face. He’s sure to keep careful when he brushes it back into its place. You don’t strain at his gesture, but he notices the slight upturn of your red lips. A smile traces his lips as he sets himself back in his seat, resting backward as he begins to reflect on his godforsaken rejection of your affection years before.

The two of you were nineteen. You began tossing your efforts at flirting with him. In his defence, it was sudden. Seven years you had known him and out of the blue, you’d taken an interest. He turned all your attempts down (sometimes not in the kindest ways) — the feeling just wasn’t mutual. You were just Y/N to him. Y/N, one of the two of Bucky’s closest pals.

Eight years later and months ago, he deciphered exactly how he felt for you. Up till this day, he wants to turn back the clock and either stop his past self from falling for you or to slap his nineteen-year-old self for rejecting your affections. If it weren’t him being targeted, he would no doubt pity the guy who was. It’s almost hysterical. Hell, Steve laughs at him sometimes, but the punk would apologize after, knowing how Bucky already felt about the entire damn ordeal between you and him.

At first, he started with his classic charms and lines that would usually get him other gals. Every try was responded to with your competing classic snarky comeback that would immediately send him a big, fat “no.”

He’s long since given up on the reliance of lines, but afterward, he resolved to subtle hints at a date with him. Dinner, a movie, dancing; anything. You turned him down kindly these few times, and every time you had he felt like hitting his head against the nearest brick wall.

He can’t say he’s fully come to terms with the fact that you’ll just keep saying no, but he’s put all tries aside. He still admires you very much, however. He wishes he doesn’t. It hurts him, to say the least. He remembers admitting how much it truly did to Steve.

“You’re always telling me there’s plenty of others that’ll come and go,” the smaller man had said. “And you chose the one who was right in front of your eyes the whole time.”

The strange thing is, along the lines of Steve’s jab, you haven’t gone. And that doesn’t necessarily mean from his affections. He feels you’ll always be there at his side, and because of that, his love for you won’t budge. He’s never spoken the exact words to you. Though he wants to, he knows he shouldn’t. It’s cowardly, yeah, but it’s practical. And if it ever were to come to that moment, he doesn’t want to put you on the spot.

In your sleeping state, the temptation overtakes him. It wouldn’t hurt a thing. So, he says it in a whisper: “I love you. Gosh, Y/N, I am so damn in love with you it’s killing me inside and out…”

He sighs and runs a hand over his face. As expected, there is no response. Your soft and steady breathing is all there is.

He wonders how the hell you both ended up here. Well, he knows how, but the events of tonight certainly made him feel even more down in the dirt.

You had a date. One with some guy Bucky knew you fancied quite a lot. It ended up rather drastic, considering the bastard had turned out to be the regular fathead Bucky already knew he was.

You showed up at his doorstep not too long after, a forlorn and angry look in your eyes. Bucky listened to every detail of your “date,” incredibly tempted to find the rat and beat him to a pulp. But you grew tired, and now here you both are.

He soon decides that you’ll be far more comfortable in a bed, so he stands and peels the quilt off you, sliding his arms underneath your shoulders and knees to pull you into his arms. He carries you to his bedroom and places you carefully in his bed. 

As soon as he has the covers pulled over your form, you stir awake, your eyes fluttering open and tiredly gazing up at him curiously. “Buck,” you murmur.

“Shh. You’re okay; I just moved you to bed. Go back to sleep,” he whispers. He’s about to turn and go when you speak again.

“Well, don’t leave your own damn room,” you order softly. “Come. Stay with me.”

He turns back to you, furrowing his brows. “Y/N, I don’t—”

“James, I’m very sleepy. Please don’t make me repeat myself.”

He is still unsure, but knowing you when you’re tired, you’re not one to be argued with. He moves to the other side of the bed and lays beside you, mindful to keep a fair space in between. He’s surprised when you suddenly turn and shift closer, nuzzling your head under his chin and snaking your arm around his waist.

“You’re one hell of a friend, you know that, Bucky?” you tell him.

He hums in response, a painful tug in his chest. He kisses the top of your head, allowing a brief silence to pass for you to fall back to sleep. He is just about to stand and leave, but he eventually decides best to let the moment last. 

What are friends for, right?


End file.
